


half a dozen of the other

by wolfsupremacist



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Alpha Relationship, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Royalty, Situational Humiliation, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-08 23:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfsupremacist/pseuds/wolfsupremacist
Summary: Four hundred and sixty-two challenges and no one has ever yielded. All challenges have been paid with flesh, one kind or another.





	half a dozen of the other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CyanideLasting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyanideLasting/gifts).



There is a large table that dominates the room. It seems like it stretches on and on, almost endless. The wood is dark, dark enough that Yixing can barely make out the swirls in the grain. The alphas sit around the endless table, and there is no noise while the beta serving them lights the candles, pours the wine. 

The beta, scentless and docile, bows. Bares neck. They stand on a razor, the twelve of them, as the beta leaves them to their business. 

When the door shuts behind him, the meeting begins. 

“Gentlemen,” Two says, clapping his hands together with a smile, the sound splintering through the room. “What’s on the schedule for this evening?”

Two has light brown eyes, full of mischief. He’s always been one of Yixing’s least favorites. Eager to poke, prod at wounds long meant to be healed. Scent potent and overwhelming, like Three’s, but cloying too, like Six’s. 

Yixing doesn’t react much. They’re not supposed to, after all. Two gets a pass. Because he’s Two.

“Boundaries,” Three says, hard, unyielding eyes, and he slides the paperwork forward to One. “Gangseo-gu’s southern border extended. Reduction of Yangcheo-gu. Along the northeast, in particular.”

Yixing does not show his shock, though it sits in his blood. He’s trained himself. They all have. Their bodies do not control them. They release scent strategically. They never show more than they want to. 

So he sits there, stone-faced as they mention his districts, his borders. He wonders who proposed the shift. Certainly not him. The Tenth, maybe. To cause trouble. Logic would tell him The Ninth, but— 

“Discussion,” One says, and he picks up his glass, takes a sip of the blood red wine. 

Everyone mirrors him. Their sign of good faith. They’ve all got poisons, things that could tear an alpha’s insides out with one swallow, but that is not their way. If they were to kill each other, it would be out in the open. Throats ripped to shreds. Wine spilling from beautiful, terrible lacerations. 

“Open,” Eight says. “Comments, The Fifth?” 

Yixing does not duck his head as he wants to, does not lower his gaze at all. Pheromones leak out purposefully, the air thick with it. Tense. Yixing doesn’t move, as any movement is interpreted as weakness. Yixing doesn’t clear his throat. Yixing lets the power pour out of him, lets the room fill with the scent of charred wood and smoke, curling in the air like silk. 

“None for the record,” Yixing says. The motion serves to increase his pack’s land. There is nothing to argue. “The Fifth accepts.” 

“Settled,” One says, and he turns, looks up at Eleven. “Comments?” 

Eleven is fierce, emerald green eyes. Honey blond hair. Autumn incarnate. Whenever the meetings come around, his hackles raise. He looks feral, barely restrained. He is a dog on a soft, tenuous leash. And Yixing can’t blame him. 

Yixing meets his eyes. And the smell of them all combined, Gods, it’s awful—like what the world smells like just before it loses life, breath. 

“The boundary shift is unfair,” Eleven says, flashing teeth. “As always.”

“Order,” Four says. “We must—” 

“The Eleventh and I are in agreement,” Twelve says, his face austere as always, nose lifted just so. Not enough to bare his neck to them, just enough to look as emotionally detached as they all pretend to be. “Yangcheo-gu’s boundaries must stay.” 

“Challenge?” Ten says excitedly. “Is it to be a challenge?” 

“Order,” Four says again, this time, firmer. “The Twelfth has no claim to the land. The Twelfth speaks out of turn. He must remain silent.” 

Twelve scoffs, turns his head to the side, cocky. “And the Eleventh and I are to sit back? Watch as you leech our lands away from us?” 

Four and six, they’re on opposite sides of the table, but their warning growls, they harmonize. They couldn’t be more different, but still, it is they who deal with Twelve’s insolence. He’s practically their pup. Young. Stupid.

“Growl,” Eleven says. “Growl all you like. Our districts are shrinking. And it is because of our numbers.” 

“It is our way,” One says. 

“If it is our way, then there will be challenges,” Eleven warns. “Be ready for them, One.” 

“Cut our formality, and I’ll cut out your eye,” One says calmly. “Call me The First.” 

“First,” Eleven hisses meanly. “Oh, wise and benevolent First. Have mercy on my people.” 

The room stinks, rotten meat and the smell of hot metal, and Yixing—he wants— 

“The Ninth,” One turns suddenly, looking to The Ninth. Yixing sits straighter. Takes a sip from his wine. “What’s your say in all this?” 

“It is not my land,” The Ninth says. “I will not speak for lands that mean nothing to me.” 

All lands mean something to them. The borders have shifted like lines drawn in sand, conquests and—all lands mean something. And The Ninth is no fool. The Fifth, The Ninth, The Eleventh...the shift affects Yixing and Eleven now, but the Ninth is against them both on the northeast. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Two says, and for a moment, the scent of him cuts through the room: sugary sweet like candy. “Four summits of silence, Nine. A year of it.”

It’s too informal and too deliberate in its informality. Yixing wants to vomit, but he only holds his face very carefully, showing nothing, as he takes another sip of wine. 

“I’m often quiet when there is nothing to be said,” The Ninth says. “And if The Eleventh or Twelfth wish to discuss old agenda, deliberate over perceived transgressions, we may do so.” 

“No rehashing the past,” Seven says. “Open the books of history, and bodies will fall from the pages.” 

The Eleventh’s hand curls to a fist, and when he brings it to the table, the sound of impact echoes. “We’ve gone too long honoring the wishes of the elders. I will not see my lands taken from me. I will not see my pack eradicated or absorbed. I challenge.” 

Ten sits straighter in his seat, eyes alight with giddiness. Yixing wants to shrink, but there is no other way.

“The Fifth?” The First says, eyes speaking volumes. He would never beg, never. He couldn’t. One crack in the facade of power, and eleven would circle like buzzards in the air. They would take the north from him. But Yixing sees the pleading in his face all the same, gaze trained on it. _Don’t_ , his eyes say. _Don’t do this_. “Do you accept, or do you yield?” 

There have been always been challenges between the twelve. Four hundred and sixty-two challenges, if the book to record such things is to be believed. 

“I accept,” Yixing says. 

Four hundred and sixty-two challenges and no one has ever yielded. All challenges have been paid with flesh, one kind or another. 

“Settled,” One says. “One week for diplomacy. In the face of failure, one ally to be named. Are the parameters understood?”

“Understood,” The Eleventh says, and he looks to The Twelfth. 

There will be no diplomacy this time, Yixing fears, and The Eleventh does not need to name his ally. He speaks plainly with his scent, with his eyes. 

“Understood?” 

The First looks at him. Shoves him forward into it. 

“Understood,” Yixing says, ready to face death as the Gods intended.  
  


ⅻ

Excerpt from _The Songs of Seoul: A History_

_In the beginning, there were twelve kings. Twelve great alphas, supreme in their command. Twelve great packs, dedicated to the Twelve. The battles for ultimate supremacy amongst them from time immemorial, the scrolls do not sing their songs. But we remember the Great War._

_The Great War lasted for centuries, and the rivers wept red as mothers wept for sons and daughters, struck down by the blade._

_The titles of the Twelve, and thus, leadership of their packs, passed from alpha to alpha. When one fell, throat torn from a bared neck, another rose from the ashes to fill his place. There would always be Twelve, for their struggle was sempiternal._

_The Great War took from the sea, the land, and the people most of all. The waters went dry, the earth salted and razed, the packs withering as conquest and famine rang empty through hollow hills._

_It was cyclical until a special Twelve, what history names the Good Twelve, ascended to gilded thrones, seats around a mighty table. The peace that came forthwith was weak, sand in cupped hands, but the strength grew over time. The rules they carved into the walls of the Capital Hall, though worn weary by time, can still be read to this day._

when an alpha falls and a new alpha rises to replace him, the numbers must yield as he takes his rightful place amongst the twelve

the second must honor the first, just as the third must honor the second  
  


ⅻ

They meet at night. It is the only time when the eyes aren’t on them.

The Twelve always travel with protection, but whenever they are to meet, Yixing makes his way to The Ninth alone. 

It is a warm evening, the summits always held when the seasons shift beneath them. The air is wet—there is to be a rainstorm, skies opening and crying over the earth. Yixing can feel it. 

The Ninth’s castle is built from the strongest stone, diamond powder sifted from the glittering river and then sintered. Yixing has seen it on occasion in the middle of day, and it is a sight to behold: the shine, magnificent and beyond compare. Bright white and terrifying for invaders. He steels himself, approaches like a cat in the night. 

He’s done it enough that he knows the way to scale the walls of the tower. What they have, between them—it’s nothing. There’s nothing. But The Ninth leaves a rope, always after meetings, when Yixing is closest. Throughout the turning of time, the dark sometimes sees _him_ wait in _his_ chambers. Waiting for something he shouldn’t be waiting for.

Never scheduled. Never decided beforehand. For once, they act on instinct. They move under the moon. 

He climbs through the window, and The Ninth—he sits on his bed. Expecting him. 

“I didn’t know that you would come,” he says, cocking an eyebrow. 

“I didn’t know that I would either,” Yixing says, honest. 

“Have you—,” he starts, before changing tack with no real change in his bland, trained expression. “The summit was interesting.” 

“It was,” Yixing says. 

He slides out of his shoes, puts them on the sill of the window. 

“Will you deal with him?” The Ninth asks, and then, softer: “He’s quite fond of poets.” 

“Poets will not solve this,” Yixing says, and he—he lets himself express an emotion. Distress. “Painters will not solve this. Nor singers, dancers, writers, carpenters, shepards, or smiths. Nothing will do.” 

“Courtesans,” The Ninth suggests. 

“He’s has more than he knows what to do with,” Yixing says. “And he has The Twelfth as well.” 

The Ninth’s face splits, shock, surprise, and in that moment, he becomes...he becomes his name. 

In a split second, cut bilaterally on the edge of a dagger, he is something that Yixing’s only ever seen when they are buried in each other, embedded in skin and sweat and swept up in a cloud of pheromones. That sweet, pretty name Yixing can’t even let himself think anymore, not even when he is alone under the cover of night. 

Yixing—he smiles, and then he bites it down. Learned. 

“Do you believe the rumors?” Nine says, and he pushes off the bed with two hands. Comes to stand in front of Yixing. “Do you think they—”

“I don’t think about them,” Yixing says. _Challenge me_ , he thinks. _Rise to me._

“All you do is think,” Nine says.

“I do plenty besides,” Yixing says. 

“Show me,” Nine says. And he reaches out, offering Yixing his hand. 

There are seconds and then there is a half-minute, and Nine waits, patient and calm, arm outstretched. It is never easy, this thing, this _nothing_ between them. At the rise and the set of the sun, they are the greatest alphas among them. And a submission in sex or love is still a submission, all told.

It prickles along his neck as he reaches forward, takes Nine’s hand in his. 

“Do we fight?” Nine asks. “Or do we leave it to chance?” 

“Chance,” Yixing says. “I’m—the journey…” 

Nine doesn’t say anything, and there is no laughter between them, he pretends there never is, but he sees a hint of a smile on Nine’s lips. Plush, red. Yixing wonders… _in a different world, what could we be? Would there be a together?_

Might Nine smile broadly, handsomely? Might he prod Yixing softly, sidle next to him? Might he kiss along Yixing’s neck, laugh at Yixing’s answering growl, the wild outpouring of pheromones? Would he go soft in Yixing’s grasp? Would—would Yixing call him by his name? Not The Ninth, or even something more intimate like Nine, but his honest, _given_ name?

“Have you brought yours?” Nine asks. 

“I’ve not,” Yixing says. 

Nine sees the thoughts in Yixing’s head, but he says nothing, just goes to his dresser drawer and pulls out his coin. He runs his fingers over the nine scratches into the golden surface. 

“Call,” Nine orders, and Yixing shivers. Lets himself feel it. The rising panic. The building at the stem of his spine. 

“Lines,” Yixing says. He always picks lines, if he gets the chance to pick. 

Some nights, it’s decided by their bodies, by whoever manages to pull the other to the ground. Takes his back, lips against his neck. They play dirty, all is fair, and Yixing will release his pheromones as distraction whenever he thinks it most advantageous. Nine will do the same, will make Yixing moan with his scent, only to flip Yixing onto his belly, hands tight around Yixing’s wrists. 

It is always a struggle. They always struggle, even in the midst of it, even when they come together like two arrows trying to split the bullseye. But they end up splitting each other, wood splintering.

Something deep inside them roars at it, tells them not to want this. Not to need it. All they do is ignore it. Ignore ignoring it.

Nine flips the coin into the air, the ultimate sign of his position, the artifact passed down from ninth eldest alpha to ninth eldest alpha, and as it tumbles through the air, Yixing wonders what the hell he’s doing. What has he started? And for what purpose? 

The coin lands in Nine’s hand, and he immediately covers it in a tight fist so Yixing can’t see. Nine smiles, and it breaks like dawn on his face. 

He opens his hand slowly, shows Yixing the plain, unmarred face of the coin, and Yixing’s body runs hot, cold. He stops himself from reacting, but no, he thinks, _this is the only place I can feel. This is the only place I can be free_.

“Would you like something to drink?” Nine offers coyly. He walks to the chalices, purposefully laid out. “I have a red from The First. Only the second harvest of this new variety. It’s sweet.” 

“Do you have soju?” Yixing asks. 

Nine smiles, shakes his head. “Do you need something so strong? Is it so bad to be underneath me?” 

A tremor rips through Yixing, and he—he wishes fate had given him Nine’s back. It would have been easier. He regrets not choosing the fight. 

Nine pours the cups full, and Yixing focuses on that instead: his delicate hands, the music of it. It is a sign of deference, a small, ultimately meaningless gesture to attempt to make Yixing’s later submission more palatable. 

This is what he has to tell himself: he doesn’t enjoy submitting. He finds no strange, confusing pleasure in letting go, letting himself feel, letting Nine put his face in the sheets. He only comes for the chance of forcing Nine onto his stomach, the wild course of power, of domination that sweeps through his blood. 

Nine hands him the cup, full to the brim of ruby red wine. Yixing takes the cup, and he takes a sip. Nine thinks just as much as Yixing does— and Yixing doesn’t want to think about that. But he loves the sweet wines from The First’s district. They’re so rare. Nine must know it. And despite that, he shares with Yixing. 

“Would you like to talk?” Nine offers. 

“There is nothing to talk about,” Yixing says, and he swallows a mouthful of sweet wine that tastes more saccharine as he falls into angst over what he is, what he’s become. “Let’s get it over with.” 

Nine smiles over his cup, sips carefully. “But you must know by now that I’m not fond of being quick about it.” 

Yixing’s stomach tenses, and memories run unbidden through his head. _Bare skin and his bared neck, a whimper in his mouth as Nine tightened his fingers around his throat._

He shakes his head, takes another sip. He lets it sit on his tongue for a second and another before he swallows, and Nine watches the movement. His gaze belies him: much as they all want to be emotionless, detached, _totally in command_...they all have the wolf inside of them. And it will not rest, not until they burn upon the pyres and the coin passes to the next, the numbers shifting to make room for the new alpha. 

“I often wonder what goes through your mind,” Nine says. “You shield so much.” 

“It is our way,” Yixing responds rotely. 

“You do it better than most,” Nine says. “Better than Two, Twelve, Ten…Eight, when he’s being provoked by Six.” 

“And you,” Yixing says, and he stares at his hands before chancing a look at Nine. “Better than most, I mean.” And Nine smiles, close-mouthed but...but it’s still something. Not nothing, no matter how much Yixing might try to convince himself otherwise. 

“That is our duty, isn’t it?” Nine says, and he circles his fingers around Yixing’s wrist. “Disciples joined under necessary discipline?” 

“Yes,” Yixing says, and he hates the word, ever since he started training for his seat. “Discipline.” 

“We do our best,” Nine says. “But none of us is so perfect as to want for nothing.” 

His voice is honey bread and peaches bubbling in hot brown sugar, warm cinnamon-spiced cream and seeds of the pomegranate. He is ripe, beautiful, and Yixing cannot wait any longer, nearly spills his wine as he surges to close the gap between them, Nine’s fingers secure around Yixing’s wrist. 

Yixing kisses him lushly, slowly, as if they have the time for romance. As if they have need for it. Still, something within him wants this and wants it madly, so he takes what he likes: he licks into Nine’s mouth, tongue meeting tongue, and they both moan at the feeling. _When was the last time we allowed ourselves to indulge in the other_ , Yixing wonders. Three quarters? Longer? 

He remembers, it was hotter than anything when they arrived at the Capital Hall, and Yixing didn’t want to wait until after, until they’d gone back to their homes, back to their packs. It was the middle of the night, quiet, and he crept through the hallways. He took to Nine’s room, opened the chamber door slowly. He made sure to make no noise as he slipped into Nine’s bed, rousing him from sleep as he let out his pheromones, arm cradling his neck as he grinded against Nine’s back. 

Nine didn’t fight. There was no struggle. No coin flipping through the air. Nine gave his submission willingly, and it was then that Yixing realized that it was always willing. No matter if it was him or Nine—they both came because they wanted to. 

It is not often that they go to each other, but Yixing is starting to feel as though it might be necessary. Necessary discipline and necessary release. 

The wine goes forgotten on the table beside the bed as they kiss, relearning each other’s mouths, sipping sounds of pleasure instead. 

“You taste sweet,” Nine says, placing pecks across Yixing’s cheek, over to his ear. He goes dangerously close to Yixing’s neck, and something rumbles through Yixing’s chest in response. “You’re okay. You’re with me.” 

It does nothing to help Yixing calm himself, and the pheromones don’t either. Nine smells like delicious wet heat, like impossible fires starting from damp wood, like wanton sex and the metallic smell of blood. It’s too much, all around him, trapping him. 

Yixing surges up, pushes Nine over and onto his back. He climbs over him, settles a leg on either side of his torso. He holds Nine down by the wrists, hair hanging into his eyes as he stares down at Nine’s satisfied smile. 

“Don’t,” Yixing tells him.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” Nine says. “Is it one of those nights?” 

Yixing resents the implication of those words, that he has _types_ of nights spent in the arms of The Ninth. Does he track the patterns? Does he file away information to use against Yixing? 

“Yixing,” he says, and Yixing collapses into his arms, the sound of his name enough to break him down into dust. “Yixing, my puppy.” Nine wraps Yixing in his arms, and Yixing wants to bristle, wants to push back against it, but it just _feels so good_ “Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of you, alpha.” 

_Shut up_ , Yixing thinks, wants to say. _Don’t remind me of who I am. Of what I’m supposed to be. I’m a sad excuse for an alpha. I’ll never be what I was destined to be because I keep coming back. I can’t stop myself from coming back to you._

He says none of it, just buries his nose under Nine’s ear, arms around Nine’s neck as they sit up into an embrace. There is great depth to him, to his scent, and some of it smells something like home. 

“Would you prefer it like this?” Nine asks, and he pushes his hips up. Yixing can feel him hard, and it sets his skin electric and hot. “Would you like me underneath you as I fuck you?” 

“I—” 

“I know what you want.” He runs flat palms up and down Yixing’s back. And if he was anyone else, it would probably soothe him. Instead, he tries to break out of Nine’s hold on him, grappling against his strong hands. “Where are you going, alpha? Do you mean to run? Don’t you want me?” 

_Yes_ , Yixing thinks, _I’ve never wanted anything more than you. And that’s what’s so terrifying._

Nine doesn’t wait for his answer, because he already knows it. Nine can look right through him, see his blood and marrow and his truth that he keeps tucked deep down inside his bones. He cups Yixing’s jaw in two hands, turns his head to the side. Forces the submission, and Yixing whines. 

He licks along Yixing’s throat, the hollow of his neck, and the stinging arousal zips through Yixing like venom. He can feel his body start to push fear and anger out on its own accord, uncontrollable, and he feels like a different person. A completely new alpha. 

“You don’t smell as good when you’re scared,” Nine says. 

“Shut up,” Yixing says. 

“ _Yixing_ ,” Nine says, and Yixing can’t help the way he collapses again, just at the sound of his own name. “Oh, that’s better, isn’t it, pup?” 

“S-stop,” Yixing says. “Please.” 

“But you don’t want me to stop, do you?” Nine says. “Good boys tell the truth, Yixing.” 

“S—Nine, please,” Yixing says, and he buries his face into Nine’s chest, into the billowing fabric of his shirt. 

“Ask for it,” Nine says. “Use the words.” 

“I can’t.” 

“You can.” 

It is never easy. Even when it is easy, it isn’t really. Tears start to fall into Nine’s chest, soaking the fabric slowly, and Yixing—he’s so _overwhelmed_ , everything springs forth, and he can’t stop. 

“Will you give yourself to me?” Nine asks. “Will you let me have you?” 

Yixing can’t bear to agree to something so deliriously wrong, merely nodding as Nine’s hands move to hold Yixing by the hips. 

“No,” Nine says, and it’s full of power, pride. Yixing’s whole body shudders in Nine’s lap. “Say it.” He presses a kiss to Yixing’s head. “Say it for me, alpha.” 

He should put up more of a fight. It shouldn’t be so simple. He’s an alpha, for fuck’s sake, he should be putting him to the sword. Even still— 

“Please,” Yixing says. “Please take me, alpha.” 

A delighted growl rumbles through Nine’s chest at Yixing’s first capitulation of the evening. There are hundreds more to come, some small enough that you can’t see them with the naked eye, some so large that they become undeniable. 

Nine pets down Yixing’s back, coaxing him pliant as he lies back against the bed once more. Then, he begins to move under him, pushing his hips again. He’s hard, they _both_ are, and Yixing moans at the feeling of someone warm and solid under him. It’s a base need, this touch. Even baser is his need to be flipped onto his back, taken in a messy kiss. 

Nine is so good at giving him what he needs: the movement is swift, in the blink of an eye. Yixing doesn’t have time to pontificate on it, chastise himself for it. He just feels. Lets himself feel. 

Nine licks into his mouth, holds Yixing’s jaw so he can’t close it. And Yixing lets him. Doesn’t defend himself against it, doesn’t try to get away. His eyes squeeze tighter shut as Nine starts to trail clever fingers down his neck, circling his pulse point, and he groans at it. 

“So sensitive,” Nine says. “I love that about you.” 

The praise has Yixing grinding up into the pressure, and when he looks down at where their bodies meet, he swallows thickly at the sight of their clothed cocks rubbing against each other. 

“Do you like that?” Nine whispers. Yixing barely trusts his voice not to whimper, so he clears the arousal in his throat before he breathes out his affirmation. He does like it. Likes it too fucking much. “Can I take your clothes off you, alpha?” 

Nine says _alpha_ , asks permission. Leaves it up to Yixing. 

He shuts his eyes, nods. 

Nine has never been anything but gentle with him when he does this part, pulling him from his clothing. He artfully moves Yixing’s limbs, taps him on the thighs when it’s time to rid himself of his pants. Even Yixing can smell his arousal when they finally come off, the scent wafting into the hot air. 

Nine’s arousal mixes with his own above them, and Yixing is so used to the scent now that he finds his body relax with every inhale. He lies down on top of Yixing, naked skin of their middles against each other, and Yixing sighs, lets the air trickle out of his lungs slow. 

They come back to each other, and they kiss. Yixing hitches his legs up around Nine’s body, caging him in, and the move is so familiar and yet still so shameful. It comes with the reminder: he spreads his legs for an alpha. He lets an alpha knot him. Not only this, but he _cries_ for it. Begs.

Yixing moans at the thought, equally filled by the humiliation and the lust. He kisses Nine harder, crosses his ankles around Nine’s back. He rocks into Nine just as Nine rocks into him. He grows weak with the simple pleasure of it, the warm, supple flesh against him. 

“Look at you,” Nine whispers against Yixing’s ear. “Soft, aren’t you?” 

He should know better than that. He _does_ know better than that, but in a strange way, Yixing understands the impulse. There’s a certain spiritedness that they can’t show to anyone but each other. They will sit at meetings, brows straight and face unchanging, but together—they play. 

But when he’s on his back, giving Nine everything he wants and more, Yixing—he can’t play. It’s too...it’s too much. 

“Don’t make that face,” Nine says, pushing himself up on his hands, either side of Yixing’s head, so he can look Yixing in the eye. “Oh, alpha. Don’t act like you don’t like it.” 

“Shut up,” Yixing says, and he turns his face to the side before realizing his error. 

But was it error? He can’t ever be sure. 

Nine takes no time at all, sharp teeth scraping against the sensitive spot on Yixing’s neck. His whimper peals out, and he makes himself small, as small as he can get. 

“Little alpha,” Nine says. “My little alpha pup.” 

Yixing wants to roar, wants to growl until his chest hurts. He shivers with rage, but he just— 

“You’re so angry,” Nine says, and it isn’t a taunt. More like a tease. Yixing bristles. “Not so reserved any longer, are you?” 

“Shut up,” Yixing says. “Just get me ready.” 

“Let yourself enjoy it,” Nine says, and he brushes his nose along Yixing’s neck, up his chin. “You know you like it.” 

Yixing growls, he can’t even _help_ it. His body hates it, his body _loves_ it, his body can’t make up it’s fucking mind, and it is driving Yixing to madness.

“I’ll get you ready,” Nine says, and he sits up between Yixing’s legs, starts to play with Yixing’s cock. “Slip my fingers in.” He circles his fingers around the head of Yixing’s cock, spreads lingering wetness around the head. “Touch you where it makes you cry.” 

Memories, again and always. _Coming untouched, spilling out over his stomach and into Nine’s mouth as he pressed up and in with two deft fingertips, dragging Yixing kicking and screaming into paradise._

Yixing thrusts into Nine’s hand, the slight pain of the friction only emphasizing the sweetness of the pleasure, like salt on caramel. Nine reaches over to the bedside table, grabs the vial of oil. He raises it high over Yixing’s body, drips it slowly over his skin. It’s cool, and Yixing jerks back as each droplet spreads over his cock. 

“W-wet,” Yixing whispers. 

Nine brings his head up, and his gaze burns holes in Yixing. “What did you say?” 

“Make it wet,” Yixing says quietly. “Please.” 

Nine smiles, small but no less handsome, and he upends the bottle entirely. Yixing gasps as it spills over him, over his stomach and his chest, dripping over his cock and down his balls. Nine follows the slickness with his hands, rubs it into Yixing’s skin, and then he twists his hand around Yixing’s cock, drawing a groan from deep within his chest. 

“Is that wet enough for you, puppy?” Nine asks, and he kneels in the space that Yixing provides for him. “How does it feel when I touch you like this?” He uses both hands as he strokes Yixing, one hand dipping down to cup his balls. “Tell me. Do you like it?” 

Yixing bites his lip so hard he thinks he might draw blood just to stay silent, but the sounds of pleasure leak out of him without regard. He doesn’t need words. Nine knows. 

But that doesn’t matter. “Say it,” Nine tells him. “Say you like my hands on you.” 

“I like it,” Yixing says. “I like it, alpha.” 

Yixing’s already on the verge of coming, so thoroughly repressed, and he starts moving into Nine’s touch. Nine smiles down at him, and Yixing shuts his eyes. 

“Pretty,” Nine praises him. “Pretty pup.” 

Yixing yowls pitifully as he tries to hold himself back from spending, and he manages it, but only just. When Nine slides a wet finger inside him, body hotter than the sun itself, he thinks he might have come, he thinks he accidentally tumbled over into it, but— 

“Oh,” Nine says, so obviously wracked with pride. “Look at you.” He slides a hand up, sliding from the tip of Yixing’s cock to the flared base, where he— “A knot just from this? You must have missed my touch, puppy.” 

Yixing wants to shield himself against Nine’s gaze, wishes he could hide or bury himself in the earth, but there is nowhere to hide. Nine’s eyes pierce him, stick him full of holes as he works Yixing open, occasionally playing with Yixing’s knot. He always breathes in sharply, moans in the most high-pitched, humiliating way. 

Nine puts three fingers inside him, stretching him wide, and it simmers under his skin: prepared to take an alpha’s cock, his knot. Prepared to be his bitch, his puppy. His slut. 

“You’re getting so wet,” Nine says softly, and he keeps thrusting his fingers with one hand, a fingertip playing with the wet head of Yixing’s cock, pulling sounds from him. “Are you ready for me, puppy?” 

“Y-yes,” Yixing stutters. 

“Say it nicely,” Nine says. “Be a good pup.” 

“Please,” Yixing says, and by a miracle of the Gods, the tears stay sitting in his eyes. “Please, alpha.” 

“Please what?” Nine says, and it’s more tortuous than it need be. 

“Please.” 

“Say it.” 

“Please,” Yixing says, shutting his eyes, so he doesn’t have to face Nine, face himself. “Please fuck me, alpha.” 

Nine presses the head of his cock against Yixing’s hole, wet and sensitive. Yixing tries to wriggle away, the feeling distinctly wrong, but Nine holds him by the hip, pulls him forward. 

“Don’t run,” Nine says, but his pheromones spin Yixing a different story. 

_Run_ , they tell him. _Or else you’ll be mine forever._

But Yixing won’t run. Can’t. Because in the deepest, darkest part of him, past his pheromones and his instincts, he’s only ever wanted this one thing: someone to hold him and someone to hold. He just never imagined he would find it. 

Nine pushes inside him, breaches him, and Yixing lets the tears spill across his face, overwhelmed and overcome. 

“Don’t cry,” Nine says, and he could have said it meanly, but he doesn’t. He says it with a learned fondness, and Yixing wishes he could stop the tears from falling. “Should I stop?” 

Yixing can’t beg for it anymore, just grabs Nine’s hands in his and shakes his head _no_. 

Nine doesn’t make him say anything else, and as he works into his slow, building rhythm, the only things Yixing hears are the sounds of their bodies moving together and the moaning that he can’t seem to stop. Every time Nine pushes into him, he finds a new level of heightened sensitivity, like the insides of him are lit on fire. 

He thrashes wildly, his body unable to handle it once Nine starts thrusting in earnest, the sounds punched from Yixing’s chest, whining and whimpering. 

Nine doesn’t say anything, just runs his hands down Yixing’s body, spreading Yixing’s legs wider. He sighs, already a bit exhausted, and he shuts his eyes. He feels the heat sinking into him, and he wonders if this is what omegas feel like. Is it something like this? The insatiable desire to be fucked within an inch of your life? 

He throws his head back further into the bed, neck stretched, and he whimpers again. Nine speeds up, fucking him harder, faster, and Yixing runs his hands over his chest, tugging at his nipples. 

“Good pup,” Nine says, and he’s not even laboring. “Play with yourself for me.” 

Yixing’s gut sinks, but he follows the order anyway, one hand moving to play with his knot as Nine decimates him, ruins him, takes and takes and takes. 

“Let me put you on your stomach,” Nine says, but _fuck_ , it’s too early for that. 

“No,” Yixing says. “Stay like this.” 

“Why?” He presses against the backs of Yixing’s thighs, folds Yixing tighter and fucks him harder. “You fucking love when I take you from behind.” 

His stomach twists uncomfortably, and he smells his arousal grow thicker around them, the cloud of it frankly undeniable. Nine smiles, lies on Yixing flat, gets his arms underneath Yixing so he can thrust into him slow, a filthy grind. 

“Let me give you what you want,” Nine whispers against Yixing’s ear. “What you’ve been waiting for.” 

Yixing cries, and he wraps his arms around Nine’s back, trying to hitch his legs up higher so that Nine can get as deep as possible. He wants to carry some part of him around always, and that is so much more than he should admit to himself. 

When Nine pulls back, gently turns Yixing over onto his stomach, it kicks back in. Nine runs his palms down Yixing’s back, drawing lines next to his spine, and Yixing struggles, tries to wriggle away. 

“Don’t move,” Nine says. “I’m going to take good care of you, alpha.” 

He pauses, lets the reminder of his position sit in his head. He shuts his eyes, breathes in and out, and when he expels the air, Nine pushes inside him. So fucking _deep_. 

Nine is right about everything. He loves it when Nine takes him from behind. 

“Oh,” Yixing moans. “Oh, you—” 

“Is that good?” 

“ _Y-yes_ ,” he stutters. “Please, I—” 

“Please, what?” Nine asks, flat against Yixing’s back as he grinds in and in, each twist of his hips more delicious than the last. 

“Please,” Yixing cries, and he buries his face in the clean white sheets so as to muffle his great shame. “Please, harder.” 

An arm circles around his neck, and Nine holds him up, doesn’t gift him any space to hide. 

“Say it again,” Nine says, and he bites the shell of Yixing’s ear, following it with a swipe of his tongue. “Say it louder, so I can hear it.” 

“ _Harder_ ,” Yixing whines. 

The movement is immediate and fierce. Yixing is yanked up, forced to get his hands and knees beneath him. It’s inglorious, the most animalistic he’s ever felt, and Nine slips back in, starts to fuck him wildly, like the only thing he was waiting for was Yixing’s word. Sound erupts at the hammering of his hips, the slap of wet skin against wet skin, and it’s horrible how it sets Yixing ablaze. 

Nine grunts with effort, low and powerful, and Yixing doesn’t want to like it, but he does. He likes Nine, likes everything about him. Likes the way Nine comes alive when it’s just the two of them, the way he grabs light from stars and puts it back into Yixing’s eyes. Nine makes Yixing feel alive, like there’s something to live for beyond borders and packs and protecting the bloodline. 

Yixing starts to push back, fuck himself back onto Nine’s cock, and he falls to his stomach, presents himself to be mounted. Nine takes what Yixing gives him and more, until there is nothing left for Yixing to give. 

But there is always something left. 

“Will you say my name, Yixing?” Nine asks, hands on Yixing’s hips as they move against each other. 

“Just fuck me,” Yixing says. 

“Why do you keep fighting it?” Nine asks. “Say my name.” 

“No,” Yixing says, tears in his eyes. “I won’t.” 

“Say it,” Nine says. “Say my name.” 

“Shut up,” Yixing says. “Just shut up.” 

“Say it, and I’ll let you come,” Nine says. “I’ll let my pretty alpha come all over my knot.” 

Heat explodes in his chest, and he wishes it wasn’t so plain before him: he loves it. He loves being dominated. Loves Nine dominating him. He will beg for it. He’ll— 

He can’t support himself under Nine’s thrusting, and he falls flat, small against the bed. 

Yixing can’t breathe, it’s caught in his throat. The pheromones drip down the walls like condensation, like sweat, and he feels it rising inside him, reaching its apex. He struggles, body twitching and pulsing. It’s writhing, squirming underneath Nine’s weight. Desperation is welling inside him, water and want creeping higher and higher, and it makes him want to scream, want to cry. 

“Please,” Yixing says. “Please, Nine.” 

“Say it,” he says. “Say my name, and you get to come.” 

His cock, his knot rub against the soft sheets beneath him. He can’t hold on any longer, can’t bear it anymore. He’s—they are two alphas, and it is wrong, it is _impossible_ , but— 

“ _Kyungsoo_.” 

The growl is too loud, even in a solitary tower, and Yixing half expects that people even in the castle below could hear it. He whines, tries to hide from it, but Kyungsoo seizes Yixing by the arms, and he pulls him up off the bed, body curved and arched as he’s hoisted back. 

It is ruthless, the way Kyungsoo fucks him. He squeezes his eyes shut, the pleasure rippling through him, and tears leak down his face. He moans, cries, and it only serves to drive Kyungsoo harder, harder into him. Yixing doesn’t know when Kyungsoo lets go of his arms, lets him fall back to the mattress, but he is so thoroughly exhausted that he sobs brokenly. 

Yixing clutches the sheets in weak, useless hands as Kyungsoo fucks into him, fast and unrelenting. 

Yixing can barely catch his breath enough to say Kyungsoo’s name, can’t say anything but moan. Can’t do anything but be the slut he is. Taken, taken over and over, coming just from the feeling of being filled, possessed, owned. 

His hands frame Yixing’s ass, and Yixing squeaks out another pathetic sound as Kyungsoo spreads him wide. Yixing turns, looks back over his shoulder, watches Kyungsoo watch where he’s entering Yixing. It’s too hot to watch, it feels like Yixing’s feet are held over the flames, so he turns back to the bed, buries his face in the covers. 

He melts as Kyungsoo smacks his ass, and his hips tilt back on their own accord. He falls in and out of this, this need. He asks for another, and Kyungsoo grants him his wish. He squeezes himself tight all over. He’s so close. 

“I’m going to come. I’m gonna knot,” Kyungsoo breathes, and he leans forward, the sweat and scent of him leaking onto Yixing’s skin. He laces his fingers with Yixing’s, squeezes his hands. “Do you want me to—” 

The thought pulses in him, arousing and just under his skin like he can feel his heartbeat all through his body. Kyungsoo gives him an out that he’d never take. Why deny any longer? Why fight? 

He lets himself have what he wants. 

“Knot me,” Yixing whispers. “Fill me.” 

Kyungsoo growls again, lies atop Yixing once more, hugging him close. Yixing looks back over his shoulder, and Kyungsoo kisses him hard, licks into Yixing’s mouth, tastes all the desperation that’s been building up between them. 

Love is such a foolish thing to think, but that’s what Yixing feels caught between their bodies as Kyungsoo moves into him, over and over, the cold blue imprint of it stuck into their skin like a brand. Yixing moans when he feels Kyungsoo’s knot against him, thick against his rim, and he doesn’t even feel the struggle any longer. 

He’s with Kyungsoo. He’s home. 

He bears down, and it slips into him. Kyungsoo whines at the feeling, and he continues to move, thrusts short and sporadic. 

“Knot me,” Yixing whispers against his lips, neck arched. “Knot me, alpha.” 

Kyungsoo kisses him hard, shudders as he pulses into Yixing. The feeling of fullness winds its way through Yixing’s bloodstream brilliantly, bright and sharp. The warmth surges through his body, and he imagines himself an omega as he comes, trapped in a heat that he can’t escape.  
  


ⅻ

He should leave. He should really be going.

They rest on opposite sides of the bed, and the only parts of them that touch are their smallest fingers, wrapped around each other as they lie flat, staring at the ceiling above them. Kyungsoo’s district has always loved the stoneworkers, and Yixing appreciates it most after they’re finished their silly game. They always lie on their backs, quiet, and they look to the mosaic. Two shattered suns, each divided to make twelve: six of one, half a dozen of the other. 

Yixing remembers Kyungsoo’s ascendence. He remembers the feeling burning inside him when he looked at Kyungsoo, before Kyungsoo became accustomed to their way: he had the brightest smile. It’s worn with time now, and he rarely shows it to anyone but Yixing. Yixing quite likes that. If anyone is to hold the key, he wants it to be him. 

“What’s the ceremony like?” Yixing wonders. “In your pack?” 

Kyungsoo’s chest rises and falls, sighs drifting in the air like plucked harp strings. 

“There are three trials,” Kyungsoo says. “If an alpha is able to pass them all, he is chosen.” 

“What happens if more than one alpha in the line passes?” Kyungsoo turns his head, smiles with a closed mouth. “Has it ever happened?” 

“No,” Kyungsoo says. “Never.” 

Yixing shuts his eyes. 

“Would you—”

Yixing opens his eyes again. Kyungsoo is staring at him. Yixing stares back, and Kyungsoo turns onto his side to face him, tangling his hand with Yixing’s. 

“Would you like to hear?” Kyungsoo asks. “About the trials?” 

This is when Yixing should start remembering his place. This is when he normally disengages. This is when he usually puts an end to the facade of love, the dream of it. They could never—they can’t. 

“Yes,” Yixing says. 

“Before they let you enter,” Kyungsoo says, and he pillows his arm underneath his head, “they tell you that each trial deals in one of three categories. The first, physical. The second, mental. The third, emotional.

“So when they bring you to the trial,” he continues, “you’ve prepared. You’ve thought about what’s inside. You’ve heard the rumors. And regardless of what you think you might do, you aren’t prepared. Because they’ve given you information meant to send you astray.” 

“How do you mean?” Yixing asks. 

“The first trial,” Kyungsoo says. “Physical. I thought I might not pass, because though I’m strong, I’m no stronger than the average alpha.” 

Yixing has felt the muscles in his arms, in his chest and back. He’s gotten stronger since joining their ranks, since becoming one of The Twelve, and Yixing has seen him grow from a rail of an alpha, fresh faced and scarless, to—to The Ninth. 

“What was the trial?” Yixing asks. 

“When I entered the room, there were these large stones all around me, enclosing me. They were taller than I was, taller than any of the wolves I knew. I start to push at them, and I realize only some of them move.” 

“Only some?” 

“Only some,” Kyungsoo says, smiling. “I looked to the ceiling, and it was mirrored glass. A maze. I had to escape by pushing the rocks into their correct places, but it was trickier than I thought it might be. If I made too many mistakes, I wouldn’t have had the strength to finish.” 

“But you passed,” Yixing says. 

“I passed,” Kyungsoo says. 

“Second?” Yixing asks. 

“Second was three doors,” Kyungsoo says. “Beside each, one of my friends.” 

“What did you have to do?” 

Kyungsoo smiles again, as if calling the memory back to him. “They were each trying to convince me to walk through their door. And I had to figure out the correct door to walk through.” 

“Had you known them a long while?” Yixing asks. 

“One since I was a pup,” Kyungsoo says, and he reaches forward, brushes his fingers through Yixing’s hair. “One since I presented. The other, since I began training for the trials.” 

“How did you figure it out?” Yixing asks. 

“I know what a liar looks like,” Kyungsoo says. He brushes his hand down Yixing’s face. It settles on the hollow of his neck. “I see them waffle about. Look everywhere but my eyes. And you can smell the fear of a liar. You can taste it in your mouth. Like milk gone foul.” 

“I bet they were terrified of you,” Yixing says. 

“Am I scary?” 

Yixing turns back, looks back to the ceiling. “When you want to be. When the world demands it of you.” 

The room is stiff with silence for a moment, but Kyungsoo crowds into Yixing’s space, takes what he wants the way an alpha should. 

“Do you really believe that?” Kyungsoo asks. 

Yixing looks at him, at the look in his eyes. He is the earth and the sea, and it reminds Yixing that he can take what he wants too. He kisses Kyungsoo, licks along the seam of his lips. 

“No,” he says, and he smiles when Kyungsoo’s face lights up. “What was the final trial?” 

“I had to sacrifice something that meant a lot to me,” Kyungsoo says. “They told me that I had failed, that I wasn’t worthy, that I wasn’t meant to be one of the Twelve, and instead, they asked me to help train alphas for the trials. To help find the one to represent us.” 

“And you accepted? Just like that?” 

“I have a duty to my pack,” Kyungsoo says simply. “And with that willingness to sacrifice, I had passed.” 

Yixing shuts his eyes. “I wish my ceremony had been like that.” 

“Is it much harsher in your district?” Kyungsoo asks, and Yixing can feel his breath on his skin. 

“It is,” Yixing says. 

And Kyungsoo doesn’t go any further than that, just holds Yixing tightly. That’s all he wanted, after all.  
  


ⅻ

“Stay until morning,” Kyungsoo says. “Stay with me, alpha.”

It is easy to forget his duty, the sacrifices he’s promised to make, when he is wrapped in Kyungsoo’s arms, scenting each other like they won’t have to wash it all away when the sun rises. 

“You know that I can’t,” Yixing says. 

“I know,” Kyungsoo says, a pretty smile on his face as he presses a kiss to Yixing’s temple, “but you know as well as I that it won’t stop me from asking.” 

Yixing shuts his eyes, breathes in the comfort that Kyungsoo gives in the warmth of his embrace, in the smell that sits at his neck. In the home and the hearth of him. 

But he can’t close his eyes to the challenge. Darkness doesn’t erase anything, just hides it until the light returns. 

“Don’t think too hard,” Kyungsoo says. “He will yield to you in diplomacy.” 

“I don’t think he will,” Yixing says quietly. “He wants to make a statement. And he’ll make that statement with my blood.” 

“You’ve survived this long,” Kyungsoo says. “You will survive this too.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

“You will,” he says, “because you must.” 

“He’s strong. Nimble. Smart,” Yixing says. “You’ve seen him fight.” 

“He is...deft,” Kyungsoo concedes.

“ _Deft_ ,” Yixing scoffs. “He’s the greatest spear-dancer I’ve ever seen.” 

“And what of you? Have you forgotten how to swing your sword?” 

Yixing turns, gives Kyungsoo his back in bed. And Kyungsoo takes it, hooks his chin over Yixing’s shoulder, kisses the bare skin wetly. 

“Stop it,” Yixing says. 

“You will deal with him,” Kyungsoo says. “You will give him whatever he asks for and more.” 

“I won’t.” 

“You will.” 

“I won’t,” Yixing says. “I owe it to my pack. If I am to die—”

Kyungsoo grabs him by the jaw, and a shiver racks through him. Arousal. Fear. It is everything and nothing. 

“You will not leave me alone in this world, alpha,” Kyungsoo says. 

“Don’t.” 

Kyungsoo kisses him hard, and there is so much emotion there that Yixing can barely hold it within him. “I pledge to you, The Fifth.” 

“Don’t,” Yixing whines. 

“I pledge my allyship,” Kyungsoo says. “I pledge my steel and my service. And if you are to die, then I am to die beside you as the Gods intended.”

“What God would have intended this?” Yixing asks. 

“A God who loves a game,” Kyungsoo says, and he pets a fingertip along the slope of Yixing’s neck. “A God who wanted us to find each other and have each other for as long as we could.” 

“We’ve found each other,” he says, and he arches his neck as if to say _mark me_ , something he can’t bear to say aloud. 

“We have,” Kyungsoo agrees. 

His fingers play along Yixing’s pulse. _There_ , Yixing thinks. _There is where we would bite each other, draw blood from the other, to make it real._

“I don’t want to see you fall,” Yixing says. “You are so young.” 

“And you, Yixing,” Kyungsoo says. “As if you’re withered and grey.” 

“Compared to you…” 

He feels the pressure at his back, telltale. 

“Shut up,” Kyungsoo commands, but Yixing doesn’t listen.  
  


ⅻ

He slides his feet back into his shoes, tying the laces quickly. He looks out the window. Dawn will break, and it will see him back in his castle where he belongs.

“Send a courier,” Nine advises. “If need be, I will give you stoneworkers to give to him. Eleven’s dams, they’ve not been touched in a half century. He needs them.” 

“I have no need for your favors,” Yixing says quietly. 

It is time to separate again, to pull back. To go back to what they are: alphas pitted against each other. Meant to despise each other. Meant to hate the feeling of another alpha against them. 

“Don’t do this, Yixing,” Nine says. “Let me help. We’ve deliberated long enough.” 

It is difficult to remind himself of their asceticism. Even just the passing of a night, it feels like forever. Hard to forget the way he can laugh and weep and roar. 

“You can’t help me,” Yixing says. “It’s too dangerous.” 

Kyungsoo grabs Yixing by the collar, brings him close. 

“What, will they take our lands? Will they take our people? They couldn’t. Not both of us.” 

“Two against ten,” Yixing says. “You’re more skilled in maths, but even I know the probability of that.” 

“Yixing,” Nine says, and _fuck_ , the shudder that sweeps through him. 

“Call me by my title, please,” Yixing says. 

The Ninth rolls his eyes, pushes him towards the window. 

“Go,” Nine orders. “Before you lose the night.” 

Yixing nods, and he turns to the window. “Don’t...don’t hate me.” He’s so weak, he can’t stop himself from turning back to see the blank look on Nine’s face. 

“I feel nothing towards you,” Nine says, and it stabs through Yixing’s stomach. “Don’t look so hurt. Isn’t that what you want?”

“No,” Yixing says. “It’s just what I need.” 

Yixing steps up into the window, hesitates at the whisper: “I’ll find where you go. I’ll have people watch you. You can’t stop me from joining the meetings. You can’t stop me from loving you, Yixing.”

Yixing shuts his eyes. 

“I won’t try,” he says, and he grips the rope, begins his descent.  
  


ⅻ

In the morning, the light streams through the pretty white curtains at his window. They’re fine, the fabric soft and transparent. Yixing isn’t one for such pretty things, but he doesn’t take them down. They filter the sun nicely. They work a charm.

He doesn’t call the chamberlains. No one can know about the seed wet inside him, so he walks quietly through to his bathing room, steps into the pool. The water is warm, and he immediately starts to scrub the scent of The Ninth off of him. He has important business to take care of today, and he doesn’t need anyone sniffing around him, wondering why he smells like a wolf in heat.

Still, he can’t help but remember, commit the night to memory. Is it pitiful to be in love? Yixing doesn’t know if he cares. 

The black soap is special, the kind that masks scent, and he rubs it all over him, trying to forget the look on Kyungsoo’s face, the feeling of his arms. He lowers himself beneath the water, scrubs through his hair quickly but efficiently. He steps out of the bath after he’s clean, scentless. It won’t be long at all before he smells like himself again. 

He wraps himself in the cloaks after he’s dried, and a chamberlain finds him as he steps into the hallway. 

“Master,” the boy bows. 

“Send a letter,” Yixing says. “To the Eleventh.” 

“The nature, Master?” 

“Trade,” Yixing says. “Tomorrow at sun-high, if it pleases him.” 

The boy bows deeply to Yixing. “Your meal, Master, it’s prepared in the hall.” 

“Thank you,” Yixing says, and he tightens the knot at his waist, ready to feast after a long evening. Perhaps, they’ll have used the spices that Kyungsoo gifted him last summit, rich and deep and beautiful.  
  


ⅻ

Yixing takes stock of what he has to deal: the Eleventh _does_ have a soft spot for the poets and the dancers, and Yixing has plenty. He’s quite fond of them himself, and he’d hate to lose them. Still, he—the Ninth’s words ring in his head. If Nine is to be his ally, then they will avoid the challenge at all costs.

There is a knock at his door. Yixing turns. 

“Master.” 

“Enter,” Yixing orders. The boy from earlier in the day enters, bows deeply at him again. “Word from the Eleventh district?” 

“Yes, Master,” the boy says. “A letter.” 

“Have you read it?” Yixing asks. 

“No, Master.” 

“Good.” Yixing gestures to him, and the boy leaps to motion, moves to hand the scroll to Yixing. “Thank you.” 

The boy waits, eyes to the ceiling as Yixing admires the unbroken wax seal, blood red and angular. He breaks the seal, unrolls the scroll and reads: 

_Our districts have a history, so The Eleventh does The Fifth this favor and this alone. The Eleventh district shall open its hall to the Fifth, but only as courtesy. The Eleventh Alpha advises that the Fifth prepares for the inevitable challenge just as he advises that the Fifth district prepares for their alpha’s inevitable death._

Yixing rubs at his temple. 

“Send Eleven a crate of the Kyoho grapes,” Yixing says. “See them delivered by end of day.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

The boy turns with another deep bow, and— 

“And…”

He stands straight, hands held carefully. “Master?”

“Send word to The Ninth,” Yixing says. “Tell him that I….that I want him present for the dealings.” 

The boy bows, leaves Yixing to his thoughts.  
  


ⅻ

The Eleventh’s castle is meager, and Yixing does not mean it unkindly. He rides with his caravan, studies the lands. The wolves are thin, the number dwindling. There are not enough to man the fortresses, the dams, the mines. Not even on such a small spit of land.

Yixing understands the ferocity in him, understands the desperation. What would it feel like, he wonders, to watch from high above as your pack starves? The Twelve would be useless without men and women loyal to them. And Kyungsoo’s words move through his head. 

They’re taught that emotion of any kind clouds them, but if anything, Yixing finds that they’ve made everything more clear. 

He shuts his eyes. Knows what he has to do. 

When he walks through the doors and into the the hall, Kyungsoo is already there, hands folded at the table. He sits opposite The Eleventh and The Twelfth, and they all watch him with cold, unfeeling eyes. 

Yixing does not bow, but he feels the urge to. 

“Well?” Eleven says boredly. “Will you stand there all day? Sit, if you must.” 

“Thank you,” Yixing says, tries not to give anything away. 

A bottle of wine sits at the center of the table, but the cups are empty, and they’ll probably remain so, Yixing thinks.

He sits next to Kyungsoo, and when he does, Kyungsoo bumps his leg against Yixing’s. He shuts his eyes, prepares himself for what he’s to do. 

“What have you to offer?” Twelve says. 

“I am prepared to call a special summit,” Yixing says, “and I will propose a redrawn border.” 

“What,” Eleven scoffs, “to steal more land from us?” 

“Save us your noble work, benefactor,” Twelve says. 

“I will give you land,” Yixing says. “The swell that was taken from your people five decades past. And I will give you the men who reside there. Soldiers. Rangers. Artisans. Whatever they may be, they will be yours.”

The drops of rain that begin to fall outside are the only sounds, and Yixing feels Kyungsoo’s wide eyes on him. Yixing doesn’t look over as he wishes to; he only stares Eleven in the eyes as his face twists miserably. 

“Ah, I see what this is,” Eleven says. “Rub salt in our wounds, that’s what you meant to do. There was to be no diplomacy. You only wanted to make fools of us.” 

Yixing sighs, a bit too much emotion for where he is, what he’s doing. He tries to fix it, softens his tone. “Eleven, I mean it truly.” 

Suddenly, Twelve stands, tall and foreboding, face uncharacteristically ugly. The rains pour down, the sky dark for so early in the day. 

“He is _The Eleventh_ , and your insolence speaks volumes about your intentions here,” Twelve thunders, scent like sulfur, rotten. “Get on your horse and ride back from whence you came. We will not deal with you, Five.” 

He spits it out, as if it was poison. 

“The Twelfth,” Kyungsoo says, calm. 

“I’m not a _child_ ,” Twelve says. 

“Then you must listen to his offer,” Kyungsoo says, turning to Eleven. “The both of you.” 

“It is a joke,” Eleven sneers. 

“It isn’t,” Yixing says. “I—” 

“Bite your fucking tongue, _Yixing_ ,” Eleven says, and Yixing recoils at the sound of his name, from someone other than Kyungsoo. “We may play nice at meetings, but our respect for you dies when you cross that Capital border. I will not be insulted in my own district, _on my own lands_. Surrounded by _my own people_.” 

It is disrespect, plain and simple, but he will not see himself fall to it. 

“We are one people. When the earth was new, we were one,” Yixing says. “We divided ourselves, fought over scraps, and we act as if we’re above it now. But we aren’t, not really. We still—we still squabble and argue, no matter how enlightened we think we are. And I will not see two of us die for nothing. Neither he and I—”, gesturing to Kyungsoo, “nor you and The Twelfth.” 

Rain pitters and patters at the glass of the windows, and all is quiet besides. Eleven looks to Twelve, and they speak silently, with just their eyes. Yixing chances a quick glance at Kyungsoo before looking back to watch their volley of gazes. Tension sits over everything as oil sits atop water, and Yixing yearns to agitate. 

But he barely breathes, control his pheromones so it’s blessedly, blessedly quiet. Until Eleven turns back to him. 

“I’ll have a chamberlain bring you to your rooms,” Eleven says quietly. “We’ll meet in the morning over a feast as...as apology.” 

Kyungsoo takes Yixing’s hand in his beneath the table, squeezes it firmly. 

“There is no apology necessary,” Yixing says. “We’ll discuss plans in the morning.” 

Eleven stands, and Twelve stands too. 

“If you...if you wish to tour the district, I can see that an envoy takes you,” Eleven says. “Or if you’re prefer it, I could take you myself.” 

“I would like that,” Yixing says, and he stands, hands on the table as Kyungsoo stands beside him. “I would like that very much.” 

Both of them bow, and the bow is returned, and maybe, Yixing thinks, just maybe, they’ll find a way to right wrongs of the past. 

The Eleventh calls, and a scentless girl takes them through the halls. Kyungsoo smells like pride, and Yixing bites his lip as the girl takes her leave. 

“What changed?” Kyungsoo whispers. “How did you—how did you come to this?” 

“I don’t want to lose you,” Yixing says. “The world would be so dark without you.” 

“You would not know the world without me in it,” Kyungsoo says, and he takes Yixing’s hand in his. “We would die together.”

“Seems a great pity,” Yixing says, smiling, “to lose two young, beautiful alphas at once.” 

“So you mean it? You’ll give him land and men?” 

Yixing inhales, the comforting scent of Kyungsoo all around him. “I will, if that’s what he needs.” And he takes Kyungsoo in his arms. He shouldn’t, but he does. 

“But why?” he asks to the side of Yixing’s neck. 

“I don’t know,” Yixing says. “I saw the lands as I rode in, and it felt so cruel, what we do to each other in the name of power. In the name of honor and respect.” 

Kyungsoo pulls back, and Yixing’s hands settle on the small of Kyungsoo’s back. Alpha, beta, omega, the Twelve, their packs, the silly battles between them—none of it matters. Nothing matters but love. But peace. 

“I love you,” Kyungsoo says. 

“I love you,” Yixing returns, and it feels good, being true.  
  


ⅻ

They ride in the small area of the The Eleventh district in the morning. More than ever, he understands the anger. The emotion. And the emotion is useful, Yixing thinks.

“A plague,” Eleven says. “It ripped through the belly of us.” 

“And us,” Twelve says. “Once the districts shrank because of our age, there was nowhere to hide. And we could do nothing but watch.” 

Yixing swallows thickly. 

“We have a great healer in the Ninth,” Kyungsoo says. “She’s written many books. I’ll...if she’s willing to teach, I will send her to you so that those she teaches might help guard against future plagues.” 

“I thank you,” Eleven says. “And my people do as well.” 

They’re quiet as they ride to the wells, and they discuss stoneworkers, just as Kyungsoo said they would. And Yixing watches the way Eleven and Twelve move close together, never moving far from the other. 

They break fast after the survey, and the tables are laid with food. Pears in a red syrup, oats sweetened with brown sugar, cakes of eggs, tomatoes, and scallions. 

A bottle of wine sits at the center of the table again, but this time, Eleven calls in a boy, has him pour the cups full. 

When Eleven raises his cup, Yixing and Kyungsoo and Twelve all follow him. 

“To...to diplomacy,” he says. “To alliance.” 

“Friendship,” Yixing suggests. 

“Yes,” he says. “To friendship.” 

They drink to it, and Yixing lets himself smile. He thinks _if not now, when?_

“To The Eleventh, I thank you,” he says. 

“Please,” the Eleventh says, and he sets his cup back to the table with a satisfying noise. “Call me Jongin.”  
  


ⅻ

They stay up until the late hours of the night, talking and drinking. Yixing can barely believe it, the way Jongin and Sehun bloom when they’re permitted. They seem so comfortable, so lively, and it makes Yixing wish for this _all_ the time, a world where they didn’t have to pretend they didn’t feel. A world where they didn’t have to fight for what was left over.

“Are you tricking us?” Sehun asks, challenging Yixing. “Is there an army at the ready?” 

“Shut up,” Yixing says. 

“He would never,” Kyungsoo says. “He’s too stupid for all that.” 

Yixing wheels around, slaps Kyungsoo on the arm. It’s too—it’s probably too affectionate in nature, but Yixing is past caring about any of it. 

“Are you quite sure, though?” Jongin asks, his scent cheerful, like tangerines. “The lands, the men...it would seem a surrender. A great one.” 

“And so it may be,” Yixing says, and he sips again at his wine. “All for the good of Seoul.” 

“You always seemed so pious,” Sehun says, head in his hand. “So ready to bring honor to your district. So ready to adhere to the rules.” 

“Not quite,” Yixing says. 

“And what guides have you ever broken?” Jongin asks. 

Yixing looks at Kyungsoo, the great love of his life that he can never admit to.

“I fell in love,” he says, admitting it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> sort of a weird one, but i hope you liked it! the world is a bit [non-committal hand gesture] but i got stuck once i wrote the first scene and i had to see it to fruition. ive never written yixing before, so i hope it didnt read too weird!!! 
> 
> anyway, if you liked it, be sure to let me know with kudos and comments. i am a small helpless fool and i need encouragement at every turn. 
> 
> ok, have an excellent day or night. or both! in fact, have a great life! u deserve it ! love u lots, lil pancake. 
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfsupremacist) | [my curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist)


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